


Can't Keep Reliving Our Past

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barebacking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: He doesn't smoke so much anymore unless he's really hammered, but John showed up a day and a half ago, looking for a place to stay. John, living with John, being near John… it's always brought out the worst in him. Arthur lights the cigarette and takes a long drag.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	Can't Keep Reliving Our Past

The sun is doing that thing it does, where a person can see every ray radiating outwards past the clouds. It's striking, especially this close to sunset. Arthur nips back into the house for one of his sketchbooks and reaches for the pencil that's usually tucked behind his ear, just to come up with a cigarette instead.

He doesn't smoke so much anymore unless he's really hammered, but John showed up a day and a half ago, looking for a place to stay. John, living with John, being near John… it's always brought out the worst in him. Arthur lights the cigarette and takes a long drag.

Settling into his chair on the back porch, Arthur begins to sketch. Trying to capture the right texture of the lighting with only graphite is a trick and a half, but he's pretty happy with his piece as a practice by the time he's done.

John comes out as Arthur's closing the sketchbook. He yawns and scratches his bare shoulder. It's fully autumn, not a time to lounge outside shirtless, so Arthur figures he's being sought out for a specific reason.

"Doodling?" he asks.

"Yeah," Arthur says, knowing from experience that explaining that it's more than just a doodle is fruitless.

"Come inside?" John asks.

"Why?"

"Hungry."

Arthur scoffs. "Well, I ain't your mother."

"But you were gonna make something, right? It's uh, six?"

"Six-thirty," Arthur says with a glance at his watch. "You slept all day."

"First chance I really had to," John admits. There's a breeze and John shivers slightly, goosebumps rising on his skin. Arthur has to pick up the sketch book and fiddle with the cover so he doesn't run his hands up and down John's arms instead. 

"You plannin' on telling me anything?" he asks.

"The less you know --"

"Spare me the bullshit," Arthur cuts in. "I may have got out, Johnny, but I know what y'all do. You're not gonna offend my delicate sensibilities."

"Feed me," John says, bordering on a whine.

Arthur does, only because he was already planning on doing it and he took out enough food for two earlier, not because John's whining has any effect on him.

"So, what have you been up to?" Arthur asks as John eats like he hasn't in days. Maybe he hasn't, if he hasn't slept in days either…

"Same shit, different city," John says.

"That ain't really an answer."

"Drugs," John says carefully. "Mostly."

There's a loud, insistent knock on the door. John nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Sit," Arthur orders him. And he's glad he did a moment later when he opens the door and sees the dour-faced man on the other side.

"Help you?"

"Mr. Morgan?"

"Ye-eah. And you are?"

"Andrew Milton. I'm looking for your brother."

"Ain't got a brother. Or maybe I do. My daddy wasn't the most forthcomin' with that kind of information."

"I'm looking for John Marston, Mr. Morgan. His car was found a few minutes from here. We know you've seen him."

"Ah. Marston. Sure, I saw him, oh… Christmas? Maybe just before then."

Milton looks pissed. "His car was found this morning."

"Sorry, sir, I really haven't seen him."

"Sure. Well. When you do, remind him that he's wanted in four states and anyone found to be helping him is going to be brought up on a host of charges of their own. You _will_ go to prison, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur smiles faintly and shuts the door, locking the deadbolt. He leans on the door for a long minute or two, just feeling his heart racing.

"Jesus, Johnny," he says when he comes back into the kitchen. "You know who that was?"

John's cleared his plate in the time Arthur's been gone. Must really have been a few days since he ate. "Some jagoff, trying to scare you into giving me up? What'd you tell him?"

"That I ain't seen you. But _Jesus, Johnny._

"How come you only call me that when you're mad? And why you so mad? It ain't my fault. Dutch's job, Dutch's plan, Dutch's fuck up."

Arthur doesn't think it prudent to remind him of the other times the nickname slips out. "John, you gotta learn to take some responsibility."

"Like you did? Want me to turn tail and run? Leave everyone behind?" John's trying to goad him. Arthur ignores it and picks up the dinner plates. He's not hungry anymore.

"That ain't what I did," Arthur says finally, feeling John's eyes on him.

John lets out a noise of indignance, standing. His chair scrapes on the floor. "It is."

"I didn't… I left the gang, John, I didn't mean to leave you." Arthur puts the dishes in the sink and turns the faucet on with more force than he needs to.

"But you did." John crosses the tiny kitchen and shoves at Arthur's shoulder, angling for a specific reaction, if Arthur's any judge.

Arthur shuts the water off before turning around, letting John trap him against the counter. He could move away, should even, but John looks… so hurt. Arthur feels his resolve to not get involved again crumbling around the edges.

John kisses him then like he's still starving. 

Arthur should move. He shouldn't take a handful of John's too-long hair to hold him still. He should retreat to another room, give them both a minute to cool down. He shouldn't use his tongue to map John's familiar mouth. He should, he shouldn't, he should...

John pulls at Arthur's hips, dragging him forward, away from the counter. Arthur lets John walk him the few steps to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. He whines into John's mouth and John echoes him a moment later.

When his legs touch the bed, Arthur sinks backwards, tugging John with him. They land in a heap and John's hard cock rubs against Arthur's thigh.

"Please," John moans.

"Yeah," Arthur says, knowing he shouldn't. "Okay."

The blankets and sheets are a mess, because John's never made a bed a day in his life. Arthur shoves them down, out of the way. He lays John down, wanting to get him out of his sweatpants but a moment later, John surges back up and shoves Arthur down instead.

He straddles Arthur's lap and leans down to nuzzle against his neck, biting and kissing in equal measure. Arthur grinds up against him, bringing their erections together in a way that sets sparks behind his eyes.

John gets the picture and pops the button on Arthur's jeans, angling his hand down Arthur's briefs with a practiced hand.

Arthur tries his damndest to keep from clawing John's shoulders up as John slowly strokes his cock. John takes his time, works Arthur into a right state and then eases him back down, as if they have all the time in the world, as if the whole world's not threatening to come down around them.

"Want you," John says, always one for stating the obvious. "Wanna feel you, want you to come with me inside you."

John always brings out the worst in him, the bad habits that he can't quite kill, the propensity for self-indulgence. And now John's the one in control. How's he supposed to fight it?

The prep is quick, not what they're used to, but the urgency is too great. John fingers him, two fingers slippery with lube scissoring him open as much as they can before John's slicking up his cock and pushing in. Arthur bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and rides out the ripple of pain until it turns to a burning pleasure.

John pushes in until he bottoms out and holds himself there, breathing hard and staring down at Arthur like he's lost.

"Go," Arthur urges. "You ain't gonna hurt me."

"Just. Trying to memorize what this feels like."

"God," Arthur says in a breath. He's not sure what John means, but it feels... significant.

John must finish memorizing after another moment, because he starts fucking in earnest. He's not shy with the noise, either, something Arthur had almost forgotten about him.

"So good," John says between groans. "Feel so fucking good."

"Yeah," Arthur agrees, because it does. It always has. John sets him off, sets him on edge, like nothing else. Arthur reaches down and palms his cock as John thrusts and pants and spews profanity above him.

John slows down, watches for a moment. "You gonna come?" he asks, eyes shining.

"Maybe," Arthur says. He manages a cocky smile for a second or two before John grabs him by the hips and changes the angle slightly. "Fuck, Christ, Johnny, right there."

John laughs and obliges him, hitting Arthur's prostate a few more times before Arthur's spilling into his hand, onto his own stomach. John gasps, squeezes Arthur's hips and shuts his eyes tightly.

"You're so goddamn pretty when you come. Squeeze my cock so good."

"Fuck, I missed you," Arthur says before pressing his mouth to John's wrist so he won't say something else John doesn't need to hear.

"Yeah? Missed this? Missed us?" John starts moving again, pace getting erratic as he nears his own orgasm.

Arthur nods, bites at the thin skin over John's pulse, and takes everything John gives him when he comes, every drop of come, every flutter of his lashes, his head as it drops forward onto Arthur's shoulder, every hot breath against fevered skin.

They lie like that for a long time, John on top of him with his face pressed into Arthur's neck, John's cock softening inside him, their breathing syncing, growing even and gentle. Finally, John disentangles himself. Arthur makes a noise, loss, and John just chuckles and lies next to him, stretching out and wrapping himself around Arthur from the side.

"I slept all day," John says. He catches Arthur's hand, knitting their fingers together.

"I didn't," Arthur reminds him.

"And you're getting old. Need all the rest you can get."

" _Hey now._ "

John drops his hand and slides out of the bed, padding out of the room. He comes back before Arthur has a chance to miss him with a warm cloth, dropping it on Arthur's chest. Thoughtful, but not that thoughtful. Same old John.

Arthur cleans himself while John gathers up the discarded bedding. Arthur thinks for a second that he's actually going to tuck them in, but John just heaps the blankets on the bed and crawls in the middle.

"Can you just --" Arthur says. He sighs and gives up. John moves against him, all sticky, clingy limbs and shaggy hair.

"Gotta get the fuck outta Ambarino," John says sleepily, despite just boasting about sleeping all day.

"I know."

"I'll come back though."

"I know. Can't get rid of you," Arthur says.

John kisses at his shoulder. "You want to?"

Arthur sighs, long suffering. "Nah. Guess not."

"Mm. Okay."

"Go to sleep, Johnny."

John's gone when he wakes up early the next morning.

The sun's all rosy and pink as it comes up, casting warm light over everything. There's half a crumpled pack of smokes on the kitchen table. Arthur steps onto the porch, ignoring the chilly air, and lights one up.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Murder by Death, "Brother."
> 
> Thanks to Red Dead Rodeo for inspiration and motivation.


End file.
